


No Shame

by cheerand



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, F/F, Female Bruce Wayne, Female Dick Grayson, Genderbending, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Pseudo-Incest, Quiet Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:33:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29582412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheerand/pseuds/cheerand
Summary: Rikki hates herself for having agreed to help Elizabeth Wayne. Now they are stuck in a cabin with a bunch of drunk officials sleeping next door, and Elizabeth wants to prove she still has power over Rikki, body and soul. “Just for one night,” Rikki thinks. “This means nothing if it’s just for one night.”
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	No Shame

Tonight Elizabeth is Lizzie Wayne, laughing too loud and rubbing shoulders with senators, talking Italian horses and art. For the first time in two years, she doesn’t have an arm candy clinging to her side like a vine. Instead, following her is Rikki Grayson, who had gone off the radar as soon as she hit eighteen and left Gotham to study in Europe – or so the legend says. As a former guardian, Elizabeth re-introduces Rikki to the high and mighty of Gotham. 

She has gathered three chess pieces around herself: a Judge, a Deputy Comptroller, and a Business Owner. Rikki is doing her best to pretend harmless – that is, she’s doing her best to play the fool.

“Your daughter is a clever thing, Wayne,” Judge Daniel Tompkins sounds entertained. Elizabeth makes every effort to appear selectively deaf. Rikki gives Tompkins a furtive smile, and he winks in a way that makes her feel fifteen and asked to bounce on uncle Danny’s knee. “Jingle Bells” is playing in the background.

It’s a private fundraiser, the kind where officials casually decide the fate of the next bill and show off their diamonds; Rikki wouldn’t have attended otherwise. She used to accompany Elizabeth to public events as a child, cameras like a lightning storm in her face, her portraits on the front pages of gossip mags, but these days she is Nightwing, living in Blüdhaven under a false name, and the last thing she needs is for a stranger to recognize her as Rikki Grayson, the eldest adoptive child (read charity case) of Lizzie Wayne. So this will be a one time job, Elizabeth promised. Rikki the Heiress will make an appearance only to slip back into the shadows where she belongs.

The thing is, Rikki knew Elizabeth didn’t need help with something as mundane as exposing a money laundering scheme. She knew it full well but said yes anyway: Christmas was near, and they both needed an excuse to see each other. As for the case – the case was so simple it felt like a dance. Cozy up to the suspects, bug their phones, wreck their security systems, steal their data, and let it do the talking in court.

“How about Martell Cordon Blue, Jim? I need your opinion,” Elizabeth says, and for all in the world she looks tipsy.

It’s a magnificent sight, an apex predator luring her prey to come closer. First she makes them feel special, next she dangles a bait under their noses, and then – gotcha! – they are happy to leave for an after-party. Judge Tompkins sends his wife home, Jim the Cognac Connoisseur tells his escort to finish her drink, Caroline the Deputy Comptroller grabs one more canapé, and the six of them sneak out of the back.

Squinting in the chilly wind, Rikki licks a snowflake off her lips. It’s half past eight, the Christmas lights are on, and the city of Gotham looks good in white.

The moment they all get in the car, Elizabeth goes for the mini bar. Her face is wearing a billion dollar smile.

“Put on some music!” Rikki demands and slams the door shut. 

The trip is a soft, pleasant blur. She drunkenly plasters herself over Judge Tompkins, who lets her ramble about Europe and nods in all the right places, clearly enjoying the view. Across from the two of them, Elizabeth is explaining her mellow audience the advantages to owning a strip club when she suddenly frowns.

“Hey Jim, is it your phone? ‘Cuz I sort of hear a faint, um, buzz,” she makes a show of patting her pockets.

“No, must be yours,” Jim says, but his hand goes to the right side of his jacket, and Caroline actually whips out her phone to check for missing calls. She swipes up to unlock, and Rikki watches her fingers move; the password is “cherry”.

For a split second, Elizabeth looks up. Her blue eyes are almost black in the murky light. Rikki nods: yeah, I got it.

By the time they arrive, Rikki knows exactly where each of their guests keeps their phone, wallet, and keys, but she still has no idea why Elizabeth went to such lengths for this joke of a case.

“Welcome to the Wayne winter cabin!” Elizabeth snaps her fingers, and the house lights up. “Ta-dah!”

The guests appear suitably impressed and just a little bit green with envy.

“Tone it down a notch, _Lizzie_ ,” whispers Rikki as they hang up their coats. Elizabeth, suddenly stone-cold sober, gives her an amused glance.

“Rikki, be a darling and take care of the fireplace,” she says, louder than necessary. When Judge Tompkins volunteers to help, neither of them is surprised. 

While Rikki has to spend the rest of the evening getting Tompkins hammered, Elizabeth seems to be actually enjoying herself. She is a little red in the face, hair artfully disheveled and the top two buttons of her shirt undone, and the way she is lounging in the chair, legs spread and one hand hanging over the arm, makes Rikki think about fashion mags.

When she finally stands up, Rikki can see the muscle in her arms shift under the fabric and the sapphire in her cuff links shimmer like liquid.

“Oh my God,” Rikki thinks, “but people are blind. How can you ever mistake Elizabeth Wayne for a normal person?”

“I guess it’s time we retired for the night, ladies and gentlemen,” slurs Elizabeth, catching herself on the edge of the table. “I am so done.”

Regrettably, the acting is lost on the audience: their guests can barely move. Hiccuping and mumbling, Judge Tompkins is trying to hold on to Rikki like she’s a teddy bear. When she pretends to struggle with keeping him upright, Elizabeth rushes in to help. She throws Tompkins’ arm over her shoulder and says,

“Oh no no, Dan, I can see what’s going on. Rikki is sleeping in my room, and I’m keeping a close eye on her. Got it?”

“Liz, ’twas n’er my ‘ntenshun to-”

“I know, I know, now let’s go. One leg, then the other…”

They put Tompkins and Caroline in guest room number one, and Elizabeth carries Jim’s escort girl to bed in guest room number two.

Jim, however, refuses to budge.

“Don’t touch him,” Elizabeth mouths. She is collecting the empty bottles off the table.

Rikki nods.

Soundlessly, they make it into the kitchen, where Elizabeth presents her with Caroline’s phone. Rikki connects it to her own smartphone and inputs “cherry”. It takes less than ninety seconds to bypass the security, gain root access, and install the spyware.

“Good job. Now go and put it back.”

Rikki sneaks across the living room like a kid hoping to catch Santa Claus in the act. On the soft carpet in the hall, she does a silent backflip. She feels conflicted about spending time with Elizabeth, yes, but would it be so bad to let herself relax for a couple of hours?

When Rikki returns, Elizabeth has already washed off the makeup and changed into sweatpants and t-shirt.

“How are-”

“Asleep.”

For a moment they freeze in the middle of the kitchen assessing each other like opponents in the ring. The window is a gray sheet of snowfall. Rikki can no longer see the Gotham skyline, or the secure gates of Wayne property, or the cars parked outside.

“Let’s go to bed,” Elizabeth whispers, and Rikki nods.

True to her word, Elizabeth ushers her into master bedroom. Without a word, she climbs under the duvet and lets Rikki rummage through the closet looking for pajamas her size. Even when Rikki gets under the covers, Elizabeth doesn’t speak a word, not even “sweet dreams”. She’s turned away from Rikki; her rib cage is rising and falling. The air around her smells like expensive perfume.

A night has never been darker.

Limbs cold and jittery, Rikki settles on her back and folds her hands on top of the covers. She can hear Elizabeth breathing. Exhale, pause, inhale. Pause. Why is this so maddening? Why did Elizabeth have to be so controlling? Most people Rikki’s age didn’t have to put seventy miles between themselves and their family to separate. They rented an apartment in the adjacent neighborhood and called it a day.

For a moment, Rikki misses Gotham so viciously her heart skips a beat. The Manor, the gargoyles, the Batsignal...

Two years apart isn’t enough.

Staring at the ceiling, she swallows. The sound is too loud. The blood in her veins is too loud. The creak in the mattress when Elizabeth turns around is deafening. Rikki keeps her eyes glued to the ghostly shadows above.

A warm, confident hand splays over her stomach. When Rikki doesn’t move away, the hand slips under her shirt, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Calloused palm runs up and down, traces along the line of her ribs. Rikki doesn’t dare blink. Her whole being is focused on the point of contact.

It’s clinical. Elizabeth isn’t caressing, she’s examining. Feeling for the new scars, taking pulse. Enjoying the body she’s forged. Making sure it’s in top shape.

Then, of course, the hand goes south. Back down the flat, tense stomach. One fingertip under the waistband of Rikki’s pajama bottoms, then two, and then the palm glides farther down.

Defeated, Rikki closes her eyes and gives in. When Elizabeth pries her legs open, she lets herself go boneless like a rag doll. She feels small like this. Fragile. She feels like someone Elizabeth is about to break, and it sends a thrill down her spine.

Fuck healthy relationships.

“If you make a sound, I’ll stop,” Elizabeth murmurs into her ear, and Rikki tries to breathe as quietly as she can. All of a sudden, she is hyper-aware of the gap between the floor and the bottom of the bedroom door, of how much sounds carry in the winter silence, of the other people in the house.

When Elizabeth spreads her pussy lips and puts a slick finger on Rikki’s clit, the squelch makes her flinch. She turns her head to the side, presses her cheek to the pillow, and stills. The scent of fresh linen floods her nose.

Gently, methodically, Elizabeth starts moving her hand, smearing wetness around and making more sounds. The pleasure is a hot, pulsating wave, turning Rikki pliant. Slack-mouthed. Taut like a string. And oh, she’s going to- 

Elizabeth withdraws.

Before Rikki can protest, she is being turned over onto her stomach. Cotton sheets whisper under their bodies, the waistband of Rikki’s pants a tight, shiver-inducing drag when Elizabeth pulls them down to her knees. It’s as much about lust as control. Laid bare and ready to be taken, Rikki forgets to feel angry about it. She’s all anticipation, and Elizabeth is supernaturally quiet. She could be doing anything, but realistically she’s probably staring.

For a moment, Rikki imagines the scandal if somebody caught them fucking.

_“Rikki is sleeping in my room, and I’m keeping a close eye on her”._

Fighting a full-body shiver, she lifts her hips a little, pressing up into the coarse fabric of Elizabeth’s sweatpants so that their bodies fit like two puzzle pieces. Neck exposed, back turned, limbs restrained – in their line of work, it’s a fetish in and of itself. She reaches out blindly and touches Elizabeth on the wrist.

Short tap, long tap, long again, short. Pause. Short, long, short, short. Pause. One short tap. Pause. Short, long. Pause. Three short taps. Pause. Short. P-L-E-A-S-E.

She slowly pulls away and puts her hand back on the pillow, digging her fingers in, praying that she’s been heard. In this isolated span of time, hidden from the outside world, she’s praying for Elizabeth Wayne and all that she is. The woman whose presence fills the entire city of Gotham. The hungry darkness that she carries inside her heart, boiling over like tar and streaming down into Rikki’s mind; a bottomless lake to drown in.

When teeth graze her nape, Rikki almost yelps. She expected pain, but all Elizabeth does is squeeze, just shy of leaving a mark.

Sampling the forbidden fruit.

It’s getting hard to think, hard to remember why this used to seem like a bad idea. Elizabeth is a solid, reliable pressure against her back. The long line of her body shifts, breasts teasing Rikki’s skin through the double layer of fabric, and Rikki knows she’s getting the crotch of Elizabeth’s pants all wet. Elizabeth must be feeling it too, because she snaps her hips down and Rikki ends up sandwiched between the mattress and a freakishly strong body that wouldn’t budge no matter how much she writhes. Elizabeth’s right hand is trapped under her stomach. She can feel it flex and start to move down.

“Hush,” Elizabeth whispers. That’s all the warning Rikki gets before two fingers find her clit and set a brutal pace.

Rikki wants to scream. If not for the fear Elizabeth might carry out the threat and stop, she would. It’s getting too good too fast. A shiver is forming in her thighs, making them snap closed around Elizabeth’s hand as it keeps moving. When the bed starts creaking, Rikki has half a mind to realize it’s her own fault, thrashing and rutting, before she cums so hard she nearly blacks out. Hot prickles of almost-pain carry her through the aftershocks, because of course Elizabeth doesn’t stop.

They struggle for a bit. The sheets get bunched up, a pillow falls off the edge of the bed. Rikki ends up on her side, with Elizabeth’s knee holding her legs apart and a firm hand wrapped around her throat. Elizabeth doesn’t cut her air – that would trigger some very unsexy memories – but it’s a game over nonetheless. “She won’t let me go,” thinks Rikki. “Oh, she won’t.” The friction gets unbearable. Her toes curl, eyes roll back. When she arches off the bed with a gasp, Elizabeth grabs her and presses their bodies together, melting them into one writhing shape under the sheets. Two of her fingers are inside Rikki all the way up to the knuckle. She spasms around them once, twice, and slumps back in Elizabeth’s arms.

“Fuckety fuck.”

“Shh,” chides Elizabeth. “Don’t wake our guests.”

“You’ve drugged ‘em. The wine.”

“I have.”

Rikki wiggles a little. Elizabeth pushes her fingers deeper in retaliation.

“So wet,” she marvels out loud, and Rikki hides her face in the pillow.

“I could go down on you,” she says, licking her lips, and Elizabeth takes a moment to consider the offer.

“Tomorrow,” she murmurs finally. “Let’s go to sleep.”

It takes them a good minute to disentangle the sheets, find Rikki’s pajama bottoms, and get the missing pillow off the floor. That plus the afterglow make it easy to just climb back under the duvet; yet another miracle. 

“Merry Christmas,” Elizabeth whispers.

Unwelcome fondness sweeps through Rikki’s heart like a tidal wave. If she were any less tired, she’d get mad at herself for feeling safe, but Elizabeth starts rubbing gentle circles between her shoulder blades and it’s just unfair.

“Merry Christmas, B,” she slurs, burrowing her face in Elizabeth’s t-shirt. The grandfather clock in the hall strikes twelve.

Just for tonight, Rikki allows herself to come home.


End file.
